Drive Or Fly
by ebonbird
Summary: Warren Worthington, Angel, goes back to Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters to visit with Scott Summers, Cyclops. He gets an expected surprise.


Title: Drive or Fly  
Archive: E-me for permission  
Rating: PG  
Summary: The first five are scattered, thinking the Professor's dead. Warren goes back to Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters to visit with sober, responsible Scott "Slim" Summers. This is set in the same continuity as _Tear Sheets_.

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Tired of playing phone-tag with Scott, Warren skipped off from work to drive into Salem Center. He took the '39 Gullwing, because it was a shame to leave a vehicle like that in a garage on a day like this. He arrived in time to take Scott to dinner, if Scott was free and Scott would be free. With the Professor dead, Scott had named himself caretaker of The Dream.

When someone finally answered the door it was Jean. There was flour in her hair and an apron over her casual clothes: denim capris, bare feet, and the ugliest of plaid shirts. For all that it was too big, it suited her.

Her eyes were enormous when she saw that it was him. She nearly dropped her wooden spoon.

"Warren!" she cried, hugging him.

"Stranger-baby," he said into her hair, holding her close.

Squirming out of his arms, she laced her fingers through his and pulled him over the threshold. 

"Oh, it's good to see you." Her emphasis was on some of the right words.

Her amazing face was prettier than ever, but that's what it always was when he saw her after a long time apart. "Likewise, kid. I mean, outside the pages of a magazine." 

She rolled her eyes. "I'm hardly in the City, if I'm not on a 'shoot," she said, apologetic. "And I need to get a new answering service."

"Right," he said, as realization dawned.

She bit her lip, her eyes swimming. "Oh, it is good to see you!"

He nodded, easing up on her hand, because Scott had called and he'd been returning Scott's calls but he'd also been calling Jean, and she hadn't returned any of those calls.

"You've been a stranger this summer!" she exclaimed, after pressing a brief kiss against Warren's mouth. 

"It's not like I knew you were here all this time." 

Jean talked too much while she led him back to the kitchen. 

"Where's the help?" Warren asked.

"Scott thought that with us having graduated, and there being no other students, he'd give housekeeping the summer off. He meets with the board of trustees every so often, but aside from keeping up with the maintenance, there's no need for a full staff."

"Right," Warren said and watched her put together the rest of dinner that was in progress. Dinner for two. Scott came in while Jean was rinsing lettuce leaves.

"War!" Scott said, shaking his hand and slapping his back, "You're never in when I call." 

"Busy, you know me. But never too busy for a friend," Warren said, shaking Scott's hand just as vigorously.

Jean was glancing from Warren to Scott, her face flushed. Scott was glancing from Jean to Warren.

Warren counted primes and thought of his last audit, aware that Jean's telepathic potential had been unlocked before the Professor's death.

"Let's go for a walk," Scott said.

The smile that accompanied Jean's, "Oh, it's gorgeous outside," didn't reach her marvelous eyes.

Scott strode alongside the paddock fence. Warren strolled. Scott would rest his hand on the wooden posts as he passed them. His head was bent as he kept his eyes on the ground. Warren's longer legs kept him effortlessly abreast of Scott. His eyes seemingly lazed over the vibrant greens and golds of the paddock, the gleaming horses feeding within it, the height of the dazzling clouds towering in pale sky. Warren's habitual expression of mild amusement obscured all bitterness but his hands were still in his pockets, still wrecking the cut of his summer-weight pants. Warren was studying Scott for all that he didn't seem to have a care in the world, or for the beauty of the day, or for Scott's obvious distress. Yet Scott was a friend and Warren had few enough of those. 

Scott's mouth was bunched at the corners, his thin lips a dry crack in the raw lower half of his face. Warren surmised that Scott had probably shaved just that afternoon and probably only with water. Scott's shirt was a busy plaid, as ugly a pattern as anything Scott chose for himself. The yellows and blues of the shirt clashed with his green-tinged jeans. Their fit was merciless, making Summers look skinnier than ever. He sweated like a pig in the noonday heat and smelled nearly as bad.

Worthingtons didn't sweat, but Warren knew that if he stopped where he was and looked back at the mansion, the drawn back curtain of the second floor library would reveal the edge of Jean Grey as she scanned the grounds for sight of Scott-- not him.

Warren's clenched hands were ruining the line of his trousers, but Warren didn't trust his fists outside of them. Not when Scott was having so much trouble saying what needed to be said. 

Scott and Warren happened upon a broken post. Hands in his pockets, Warren stepped aside as Scott went to the least muddy end and squatted. Warren squinted down at Scott, looking hard. Scott and Jean were together. There wasn't anything to do about it. While he'd been away, Jean and Scott had become a them. An us. Warren grinned to himself, thin-lipped. Scott looked nervous and off-balance as he looked up at Warren. Warren narrowed his eyes at Scott and against earlier resolve said, "What?"

"Gimme a hand with this," Scott said, looking away, and tucked his shoulder under the end of the post.

Warren skinned off his jacket, folded it in half along a post rail. In seconds he'd rolled up his shirtsleeves, redone the sleeves, and removed the shirt and his wing harness. His wings unfurled with a sound reminiscent of sails filling with wind. His undershirt, too costly an item of clothing to get snagged on the wooden post, was pulled over the top of his head. As he removed his undershirt, Warren turned towards the house. The window curtain in the second floor library was drawn back by a shapely arm. The shapely redhead it was attached to stood too far inside the house for Warren to see her properly.

Turning his gaze to the sky, Warren inhaled deeply.

Scott knelt up, getting his legs under him as he tried to push the post upright. Warren steadied it, taking its weight against his thigh. His hands-- soft and manicured-- linked beneath the muddy end and both men were holding it between them.

"Got it?" Scott asked. 

Warren nodded, his face red. "Back up already." 

Scott did until Warren said, "Go right-- Stop." 

They leaned the post against another.

"Warren..." Scott said.

Warren put his hand on his hip. He was looking at the ground. "Shouldn't you be blasting a deeper hole for this post?"

Dusting off his dirty hands against his jeans, Scott covered the few steps to the post hole. Raised his glasses while staring at it. With a punching sound, a spray of dirt flew into the air. Warren's wings closed over his head, deflecting it. 

"Figures," Scott said, shaking dirt out of his hair.

Against his will, Warren laughed.

Together, they dropped the post into the ground. Scott held it upright as Warren lowered himself to grab a fallen rail. Grunting, his wings flapping, Warren strained to get the rail into the notch. Scott grinned at him when he positioned it correctly. Warren pretended he hadn't seen it. He landed on his feet and gathered up his harness and clothing.

He started back up the way they'd come.

"Warren," Scott said from behind him.

"Yeah, Slim," Warren replied, turning smoothly.

"You're gonna have to do better than this."

"Shut up, Scott."

"You can't sulk because of this. She was going to tell you but I-- " 

Warren hurled his jacket, shirt, undershirt, and wing harness into the dirt. "She didn't have to tell me! I already knew! Before either of you knew what was happening, I knew!" Warren's voice had never been deeper, louder. Sadder still, it was speaking the truth.

Scott was rocked back on his heels.

Warren chuckled a little. "Wow. So much for my Worthington cool." 

Scott stepped forward, his hand tapping his thigh.

Warren looked at his watch. "Wow," he said. "Is that the time?"

Scott didn't know.

"I have somewhere I need to be. You mind telling Jean that I won't be coming up for dinner?"

"Yes."

Warren grinned. "I'll give you guys a call."

Slinging his clothing and harness over one shoulder, Warren took to the sky.

He circled the grounds, higher than anyone else could see.

Below, a little dot that was Jean detached itself from the mansion and joined the dot that was Scott.

After that, Warren took his time getting home.

It was a fine afternoon for a flight.

-0-

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End file.
